


Broken

by Liegoddess



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Dead Money DLC, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Old World Blues DLC, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liegoddess/pseuds/Liegoddess
Summary: Veronica and Raul discover the Courier's fear of garbled radios.





	Broken

It was hot at the Lucky 38, especially for a Fall afternoon. Far too hot to make going outside remotely worth it, and with the courier that brought them all here out "trudgin' down that lonesome road," as Cass liked to put it, they had to make their own fun today.

Arcade was, of course, napping. Poor guy seemed so tired all the time, and he obviously had the most trouble with the heat. Rex and ED-E were there with him, seemingly at home next to the lanky doctor.

Boone was out on a walk, having been roped into picking up groceries with Cass. She would have gone alone, but, well, there was a limit to how much whisky the courier was willing to pay for.

Lily was sewing at the dining table, fixing all the torn clothes they seemed to accumulate.

And lastly, Raul and Veronica were at the workbench, tinkering with a busted radio.

 

"I know what I'm doing," Veronica insisted, fiddling around with the radio’s insides. "I've been taking things apart and putting them back  together since before I could walk."

 

"Oh, absolutely," Raul commented sarcastically. "That's why you've done such a stellar job getting it working."

 

"It's not my fault," Veronica huffed, admittedly getting frustrated. "There's something wrong with the receptors. All it's giving me is this garbly noise. It needs new parts."

 

"New parts are the vice of a lazy mechanic. Let me take a look."

 

"Fine," she relented, stepping aside. "But I'm telling you, it needs new parts."

 

Raul's retort was interrupted by the ding of the elevator. Probably Cass and Boone back with groceries.

"You better have gotten me some Fancy Lads," Veronica called out.

 

"No, sorry," came a familiar husky voice from the doorway. "I take it we're outta food, then?"

 

Veronica beamed and rushed to welcome Malika with a warm embrace, almost throwing off her balance and knocking them both back into the elevator.

 

"All out, boss. Short plain and sunburned and that alcoholic you keep letting in here left to get more.

 

"Wow, Malika, you weren't gone nearly as long as last time," said Veronica as she pulled away. "And here I was worried these trips would just get longer and longer until we never saw you again."

 

Malika laughed that wonderful laugh of hers and grinned. Her teeth seemed whiter and straighter than before, Veronica noticed.

"And miss out on all these hugs? Forget about it."

 

"What happened to your teeth?" Veronica asked abruptly. "They're all... Shiny."

 

"Corrective surgery. Now, wanna see what I got you?"

 

"Ooh! Ooh! Yes!!"

 

Malika smirked and reached into her backpack, theatrically producing a powerfist made of a strange blue metal.

"Fresh from the saturnite forges of the mysterious Big Mountain!" she announced, handing it to Veronica. "I haven't had a chance to test it, but it should pack a mean punch."

 

Veronica snorted at the pun.

"I love it! I'll be sure to test it next chance I get."

 

Malika smiled down at her. Out of all her companions, she always made sure to have something for Veronica. Everyone knew why, but no one said... Well, except Cass. But she said it quiet, and when Veronica wasn't around.

 

"Get anything for me this time, boss?" Asked Raul. He didn't need or want much, but he also never got much, so he could at least tease her about it. "Or am I not pretty enough?"

 

"I got you something, you crotchety old bastard," jabbed Malika, pulling out several boxes of high-end magnum ammunition.

 

"Bullets," Raul observed dryly. "You shouldn't have, boss."

 

"It was that or a robot." 

 

Raul shuddered.

"Bullets are fine." 

 

Malika snorted.

"Arcade napping again? I have something for him."

 

"Something for Arcade?" Veronica inquired quizzically. "You never have something for him."

 

"Yeah, well, I--"

Malika's voice stopped dead.

 

And the only noise left in its wake was a garbled mess of static and almost-voices that caught her breath in her throat.

 

"Yeah, okay, maybe it needs new parts," Admitted Raul.

 

Without a word, Malika whipped out her laser pistol and destroyed it in one clean shot.

 

Raul scrambled away from the bench.

"Jeez, boss, it didn't sound that bad!"

 

Even Veronica was a little freaked out by that. She turned to ask Malika what was wrong, only to see her practically sprinting out of the room. They could hear her bedroom door slam a few seconds later.

 

Arcade rushed into the kitchen, alert and with his plasma defender at the ready.

"I heard laser fire, what happened?"

 

"The Boss must've mistaken the radio for a Legion assassin or something," Raul answered, still a little perturbed.

 

Arcade looked nonplussed.

"She... What?"

 

"It's true," said Veronica. "It was like she was scared of it or something."

 

Arcade's look of confusion became one of concern.

"I'll go talk to her," he said.

 

"That's okay, Arcade," Veronica cut in. "I can do it."

 

Arcade's face was the picture of pseudo-brotherly concern as he nodded in assent. As much as he wanted to help, he also realized Veronica had a better chance of getting through to the Courier.

"Alright, go ahead," he said wearily. "I'll be in my room if you need anything."

 

Veronica offered him a grateful smile, before heading up to the master bedroom and knocking on the door.

There was no answer.

Veronica knocked again.

Still no answer.

And a third time.

 

"Go away.”   
  
"What's wrong, Malika?" Veronica replied through the door.   
  
"It's nothing," insisted Malika. Her voice sounded hoarse. "Just leave me alone."   
  
"Not gonna happen, mailman."   
  
There was a pause, a lull in the conversation that could only mean she was thinking. Her brain likely whirring a mile a minute, as usual. Veronica often found herself in awe of the courier's raw intellect. At least, that is, until said raw intellect drove her to consume five boxes of Fancy Lads, three atomic cocktails, and a hit of slasher before passing out in the break room watching old slapstick holovids. Still, there was no one who could beat her ability to reason... When she was being reasonable, at least. Still, as reasonable as she often was, it was no small relief when the latch on the door clicked.   
"Alright," she muttered. "But just you."   
  
"Aw, but I wanted to bring a date," Veronica joked, stepping in to see Malika had returned to the bed. The covers were all askew, pillows and blankets shifted in such a way as to make a nest of sorts. Malika was in the middle of this nest, curled up into a ball, staring vacantly at nothing. She'd look like she was spacing out if she weren't gripping her legs tightly and shaking. “Malika, what's wrong?” she asked, stepping slightly closer.   
  
Malika shook her head, burying herself further into the bed.   
“Ghosts,” she muttered.   
  
Veronica stopped in her tracks, unsure whether or not to approach. She wanted to, but how well would that go over?   
“What ghosts?” she asked instead.   
  
“In the villa. And the casino. Everywhere. Living and dead.”   
  
“Living ghosts, huh? Sounds like a story.”   
  
Malika shook her head.   
  
Veronica, taking a leaf out of the Courier's book, decided to take another step forward and, seeing that she wasn't objecting, crossed the rest of the distance to the bed and crawled on, scooting up to Malika slowly.   
“No ghosts here, mailman,” she said softly. “Just your favorite... ex-scribe.” 

Wow. That was the first time she'd admitted out loud that she'd left the Brotherhood since leaving. It stung.   
  
“Veronica?” Asked Malika, with some hesitation.   
  
“That's what the name-tag says,” Veronica murmured gently, only to be cut off by a fierce hug. God... the poor woman was crying.   
  
“I'm sorry,” Malika sobbed. This was the first time she'd shown any kind of real sadness since they'd met. She’d always seemed so... indestructible. It was jarring, to be honest.   
  
“For what?” Veronica asked as kindly as she could. “The radio? It was a piece of junk anyway. We can just get a new one. No biggie.”   
  
Malika shook her head.   
“I can't be strong for you. Can't be strong for anyone, broken like this.”   
  
“Hey, since when are you broken? You're the toughest lady I know. And I know Grandma Lily.”   
  
That got a tiny chuckle out of her.   
“I appreciate the thought, Veronica, but I am  _ not _ tougher than Lily. Hell,  _ Arcade's _ tougher than me.”   
  
“Arcade's a big baby compared to you. He can't even take a punch.”   
  
“He wouldn't have broken.”   
  
“Where's this even coming from?” Veronica asked, getting worried.   
  
“The Sierra Madre.”   
  
“That casino in all those campfire stories? What's that got to do with anything?”   
  
“Elijah was there,” Malika answered quietly.   
  
That got Veronica's attention. Every time she'd asked Malika about her mentor, all she'd gotten for her trouble was an evasive shrug and a change of subject.   
“What about Elijah?”   
  
“That's where I found him. He... he put a bomb collar on my neck.”   
  
Okay, Veronica  _ really _ had to know what was going on now. They'd seen evidence of Elijah using bomb collars in the past, but it'd been so hard to believe that... well, Veronica may have selectively forgotten about it.   
“What happened?” she asked, trying hard not to sound insistent.   
  
Malika glanced up at at Veronica, a hopeless look in her eyes. She sighed and began to explain. She talked about the bunker. She talked about the Sierra Madre. She talked about Elijah and his obsession with the casino's vaults, about the collars he'd put on herself and others. She talked about the people who helped her, but refrained from mentioning the scribe's name. She doubted Christine would want to be found. When she was done, she found herself exhausted, tears hot upon her face.   
  
Veronica had so much to say. So much to ask. But the words wouldn't leave her lips. So, instead, she pulled Malika into a hug tighter than she'd ever given.   
“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, tears on her face as well.   
  
And they embraced. And in the heat of their embrace, their lips met, and Malika poured all her sorrow into those soft lips, the warmth of them not even bothering her on the hot day. The kissing could have grown more passionate, as it usually did. It could have escalated into another afternoon of “hot girl-on-girl action,” as Cass liked to put it. It could have, but it didn't. That's not what they needed, right then and there.   
So the kiss subsided in time, leaving to the two of them holding each other on the bed. Eventually, Malika broke the silence with gentle laughter.   
“On the plus side, I got you that cool dress.”   
  
Veronica burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. It was just so...  _ like _ Malika to find a silver lining like that. She could find hope in any situation. It was the most beautiful thing about her, if Veronica had to choose.   
Malika's laughter joined hers, soon enough, her husky voice harmonizing with Veronica’s own sweet one until their laughter filled the suite.   
  
“It's so nice how happy they make each other,” said Lily brightly, sewing away at her spot at the table.   
  
Raul smirked softly to himself.   
“It is, isn't it?”

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally thought of this while playing Old World Blues and passing through Little Yangtze. I heard the radio signal from Elijah's camp and had a moment of panic before I remembered I'm not wearing a collar anymore. Then it occurred to me that, as freaked out as I was, the Courier would have it even worse. Honestly, I'd be surprised if anyone didn't walk out of the Madre with some serious PTSD.  
> The rest practically wrote itself.


End file.
